The Fourth
by paganpunk2
Summary: Damian's afraid of loud noises, Dick's missing Bruce, and there's a fireworks show to be attended. What are a pair of Batboys to do? Three-shot, K for language.
1. Chapter 1

"…Dami?" Dick called as he stepped into the cave. There was no human response, but the sound of something metal hitting the concrete floor over by the vehicles was as good as a locator beacon. _Right where I thought he'd be,_ he shook his head with a faint smirk. _If you can't find Damian, look under a car or over your head. _"Daaaamian," he drew out, leaning over to peer under the Batmobile. "C'mon. We're going to get a nasty look from Alfred if we're not upstairs in about three minutes."

The boy glanced up at him momentarily, something that only Dick could read dancing in his eyes, and then focused back on his work. "I'm not going," he said resolutely.

"…Didn't you _just_ change the oil last week?" the elder asked with a slight frown as he realized what exactly his younger brother was doing. "It didn't need done again already."

"I felt like it."

"Uh-huh." Knowing something was up, he sat cross-legged on the floor. "What is it, Dami? Why don't you want to go?" _There's no point in beating around the bush about it, since something's obviously bothering you about tonight. You'll just get pissy if I don't go right to the point._

"It's _nothing_. I just have more important things to do than watch people waste perfectly good gunpowder to make pretty lights that burn right out. And they aren't even that pretty to begin with," he added.

"…Well that was the most callous description of fireworks that I've ever heard," Dick said slowly. _But that's not what's really bothering you. So what is it?_ "Maybe even…_too_ callous." Damian shot him a fast look, there and gone, and he knew he'd scored a hit. "What's _really_ the problem? What is it about the idea of fireworks that you don't like?"

"They're _stupid_, Grayson! They're a waste of time and material! Alright?!"

"Nope. Not buying it. Sorry. Try again."

"I told you, I don't want to throw away an entire evening looking at dumb, ugly, _loud_ fireworks. Now leave me alone, I'm busy."

_Loud. Bingo._ _You've been getting kind of jumpy with sudden noises the last six months or so,_ he mused. _And I know it's aggravating you to no end that you can't get it fully under control. No wonder you don't want to go see fireworks._ "…Loud?" he repeated knowingly.

With anyone else, Damian would have scoffed, slid out from beneath the car, and stalked away. But then with anyone else he never would have had his guard down enough to let the word that had given him away slip out. Knowing that, he simply pursed his lips and gave an angry but defeated little grunt. "…Loud," he confirmed.

"You know we're going to be sitting like a half a mile away from where they're launching, right? We're not going to be right underneath of them," Dick tried to soothe him. "And no one will look at you funny if you wear earplugs. I'll wear them, too, if it makes you feel better."

"I don't like earplugs." He paused. "Why do you even want to _go_ to this idiotic event? They're just going to put us up on the Wayne Enterprises viewing platform and pander meaninglessly at you the whole time."

"…I know." _But Bruce and I used to go every year, _he couldn't say. _And now…everyone's expecting me to go, but I can't do this alone. I just…can't. It's too much. Half a year isn't enough time to heal. Hell…eternity isn't enough time to heal. But I can't just not fulfill my obligations, either. That's not what he would want me to do, just…drop out of the world. _"…I don't have a choice about whether or not to go. You do, if you can convince Alfred to leave you home alone, but…" _But Alfred will stay with the car, because that's what's 'proper,' and Tim…he'll probably be out in the crowd somewhere, but it's a safe bet that he's still not talking to me. I just don't want to be alone with a bunch of people who have no idea about who he really was…_ "Dami? Please come with me? It's just fireworks. I'll be right there if you get…you know," he finished, well aware that a suggestion that Damian might actually get scared would probably foul the entire plan.

There was a rough rattle as the twelve-year-old shoved himself out from underneath the car. A moment later he stalked around to where the elder male still sat, stopped cold, and crossed his arms. "…I'm _not_ scared."

Dick gave a tiny, relieved chuckle. "Yeah, I know."

"…You'd better not leave me alone with all of those corporate idiots. I won't be held accountable for my actions if you do."

"I promise not to leave you alone," was dutifully sworn. "Not even with the 'corporate idiots,' as you so politely called them."

"…Fine. I guess I'll go, then." He looked away, trying to feel as put-upon as his expression suggested that he was. _He just doesn't want to be alone tonight. I don't get it, that…weird closeness they had, but…I don't like it when he's sad. It makes me angry, for some reason._ "Well?" he demanded when Dick didn't shift from his position. "Are we going, or what?"

"…Thank you, Damian," came back sincerely.

"…Yeah, well…you owe me for this." _You don't owe me for this._

"I figured," he grinned. _I know better._ "Go wash your hands before you give Alfred a coronary. I'll meet you upstairs, okay?"

"Fine." _…Why do I do things like this for you, Grayson? I…I don't get that, either. It's annoying, the way you can make me do things I don't want to. And yet…I don't really mind so much. _His step faltered slightly. _Damn it, he's turning me soft. So why don't I seem to mind that, either?_


	2. Chapter 2

The green sections of Midtown Park were throbbing with life as they cruised slowly around to the VIP section an hour later. As soon as Alfred dropped them off and left to wait with the other drivers in an undisclosed location, Damian glued himself silently to Dick's hip. If anyone had commented he would have sharply informed them that separating in such a crowd would lead to nothing but hours of tediously searching the acres upon acres of faces for a familiar glimpse; the truth of the matter was that he simply disliked large groups of people. For all that he respected the way a gathering like this allowed one to slip away easily, he also knew that a clever opponent could turn the anonymity of the masses to their favor and use it to encircle you. There was no reason to think that any such thing would happen tonight – they were in civilian garb, after all, and headed for the highly monitored and heavily policed grandstand that was open only to a few select hundreds out of the tens of thousands milling about – but that wasn't enough to make him want to wander into the raucous sea of humanity.

Dick, on the other hand, looked towards the milling citizenry with a wistful air. The mingled scents of a dozen different ethnic cuisines drifted over from a nearby line of carts, awakening the street-food devouring beast that had been forced to lay more or less dormant in his stomach since his return to Gotham. Bright t-shirts, headscarves, and the occasional sari bespoke the multicultural makeup of the city, and as the riot of colors flared in the last light of day he was pulled back, just for a second, to the time before he had first called this city home. Skirting the edge of the already-cluttered main fields, he could taste that old energy, and his soul ached to soak in it; but Damian was sticking unusually close and sending glares towards anyone who drew too near, he noted, and in response he tucked the urge aside. _He came out tonight for me. The least I can do is not purposefully draw him any further into the discomfort zone._

They had what were easily the best seats in the house. Once they'd been deposited in them by the usher who had led them through security, someone new arrived, inquiring as to whether or not they needed anything. Dick scanned the generator-toting trailers below, each with a long queue snaking away from its window. "…Yeah," he answered, pulling out his wallet. "Bring us two hot dogs, everything on them, and two kebabs. Beef. Dami? Sprite?"

"…Alfred will murder you in your sleep if you buy street food _and_ soda."

"Why, are you planning on telling him about it?" he winked with a grin, already salivating.

Damian blinked at him for a second, then let a minuscule smirk of complicity dance across his features. "Make it a Coke."

"Giving a twelve year old caffeine this late at night. I may regret this," Dick sighed mournfully towards the woman waiting for them to finish. "But hey, it's a party. Can you get all of that by yourself?" he asked, handing her a fifty.

"I…can," she nodded hesitantly. "But…are you sure you wouldn't like something from the prepared table? We have some nice steaks down there, or caviar, or…well, everything has been prepared very carefully to ensure no one is made ill. I'd be happy to get you anything we have ready."

"Thanks, but I've spent enough Fourths politely eating tea sandwiches and pretending to be satisfied. This year, I want some good, common gastronomy. So," he smiled charmingly, "two hot dogs, everything on, two beef kebabs, and two Cokes. Better bring a couple bottles of water, too. If you don't mind." He kept his expression up until the woman took his money, acquiesced weakly, and headed towards the first stand. _You'd think I asked her to bring me a virgin to sacrifice,_ he shook his head after she'd gone. _Jeez, all I want is normal food. Is that so much to ask? I'm sorry that caviar isn't on my list of things you eat while watching fireworks. Bruce always faked it – well, no, he never had to, they probably started making steaks at these things for him – but I can't. No way. This is the Fourth of July; fish roe is unwelcome in my stomach today._

His vague unhappiness at the reaction his order had drawn fled as soon as the plebeian delicacies were delivered. The woman was all but juggling everything as she approached, prompting Dick to come forward to help her partially out of kindness and partially because he didn't want to see any of it hit the ground. Once she handed it all over, she fled, not waiting around to be asked to fetch something else from outside of the protective cordon. "Mmm," the elder male inhaled gratefully as he regained his seat. "It smells _amazing_…"

Damian absolutely agreed. His pleasure at once again holding the weight of a good kebab in one hand overrode his tendency to show disdain in all situations, and he almost smiled as he pulled off the first chunk of meat and began to chew it. _I wonder if Dick will let me go down and get another one of these, _he wondered idly._ Or at least send the woman again…_

Dick watched him from the corner of his eye, relaxing happily when he spied a glimmer of joy in the boy's visage. _There. That's better. If I'd known all it took was a kebab to make you look like you don't hate the entire world, we'd have done this a long time ago. I think we're going to have to start sneaking away every once in a while to get street food; Alfred will just have to deal with it. I'll face that wrath to see you enjoy yourself, even if it's only for a few minutes._ "…That was fast," he remarked as the stripped stick was chucked with unceremonious aim into the nearest trash bin. "Here."

The child looked at the object being held out to him, mildly confused. "Didn't you order that for yourself?" he inquired. _…What am I doing? Just take the damn kebab, you wanted a second one anyway!_

"Nah. I'm in more of a hot dog mood. It's traditional on the Fourth, you know. Hot dogs."

"Hot dogs and kebabs," he raised an eyebrow.

"There's nothing saying that two traditions can't live right next to each other and be equally as important, Dami."

"…Fine." With that, he took the second stick. This time there was no mistaking the upcurve of his lips.

Making a satisfied little noise, Dick settled back, propped his feet up on the railing in front of him, and dug into his meal. _Oh, god, how I've missed you, kosher with everything,_ he moaned internally. A wash of soda rinsed it all down his throat, and he closed his eyes for a second, savoring.

"People are trying not to look at you strangely," Damian informed him.

"Good for them. I'm enjoying myself." _I didn't think I would, but…I am._

"Your posture is less than aristocratic. Unless ballpark hobo is the reputation you're aiming for, you might want to refrain from reclining like that."

"I never claimed to be an aristocrat. As for my reputation, Bruce…Bruce's was as a notorious playboy, a different woman on his arm every month. You know that. Ballpark hobo is no better or worse than how people saw him. Besides…the ones who think I don't deserve what he gave me have felt that way since day one, and their opinion won't change no matter how straight I sit. Usually I'd at least try, but on a night like this," he waved his hand at the swaths of figures dodging one another below, "I'd just like to be a regular person. Even if we are in public."

"A regular person," the younger scoffed, executing another perfect throw towards the waste bin. "Do you really think that's what he would have wanted you to be?" his voice dropped secretively. "A 'regular' person?"

"…No," Dick answered slowly, crumpling up his first wrapper and sending it after Damian's stick. "I _know_ it is. To be regular people; that's what he wanted for us, more than anything else. It's just that none of us were ever strong enough to give it to him. So if I slouch, and eat a street vendor hot dog, and maybe even whoop when the fireworks are really good…I don't think of it as a disgrace, Damian. I think of it as a memorial." _…Wow. I hadn't couched it like that before, but…that's what it is, really. Huh. _

The boy watched with glaring concentration as one end of the second hot dog was uncovered. "…Are you sure about that?" he asked seriously, all hints of derisiveness having fled his tone.

Dick had been about the take a massive bite, but he paused at the question and turned to his brother solemnly. "I would bet my life on it."

"…Mm." The boy studied him for a moment, then shifted his gaze back out towards the line of carts. _I feel like I barely knew him, but…he was still my father. And…well…kebabs are normal, right?_ "You may not be entirely full of shit on this issue, Grayson."

"I'm glad you agree." Another bill appeared in his hand suddenly. "…Excuse me," he snagged one of the myriad service workers that had been flitting back and forth in front of them while they ate. "…Can you go grab us a few more kebabs? Beef. And one chicken, I'm craving poultry suddenly."

Damian turned to him once more when the staff person had gone. "I didn't say I wanted another."

Dick just laughed and gave him a grin, then ruffled his hair. For once, the action didn't draw protest. "…You didn't have to, Dami. You didn't have to."

**Author's Note: Whelp, I lied. It's going to be a three shot, all because I couldn't avoice waxing eloquent on street food. I will post the final chapter in two or three days. Happy reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

Dick felt Damian go rigid when the first series of aerial explosions went off without warning. "Relax," he breathed out of the corner of his mouth.

"_You_ relax," was instantly retorted.

"I _am_ relaxed, Dami. Look."

The boy glanced over, then grimaced. _He's not lying,_ he thought with a fair amount of distaste for himself. His elder brother, with his feet still up on the railing and his head tilted against the back of his seat, was clearly enjoying the show being put on above them. _Why can't I stop tensing, damn it?! I know no one else who looked at me right now would be able to tell, but…he can. He knows I hate this,_ one finger twitched in aggravation as a fresh series of pops and crackles reached their ears, _and if I don't at least enjoy it a little bit he's going to feel bad about asking me to come. Stupid, over-sensitive jerk…_

"You know, the arm between these seats goes up," Dick commented off-handedly. "Just saying."

"I do _not_ require comforting," came a ground-out response.

"Have it your way," he shrugged, eyes never leaving the sky. "But you should at least _look_ at the fireworks, you know. It might help take your mind off of how they got up there."

Grudgingly, Damian turned his gaze back to where a fresh burst of red and blue had just erupted. _It's not that they aren't okay to look at it, they're just…too noisy. Why can't they make __silent__ fireworks? _ He had to admit, though, that if he let himself anticipate what colors and designs would appear next it made the shockwaves slightly more bearable. _I loathe this, this…fear. It's irrational. Those explosions can't hurt us, they're too far away. And it's more than that, too. It's car doors, and dropped pans, and…and everything loud and unexpected. __Why__? I never had problems like this until a few months ago, and…I don't know how to make it go away. Mother would never have tolerated such cowardice…_

A large batch of rockets launched, sending a shiver through the air that vibrated in their chests. The sensation only lasted a moment, but it was enough to draw a tiny gasp from the younger of the pair. The sound was so faint that had Dick not known that the child beside him had recently been having worse and worse reactions to unanticipated noises he would have written it off; but he'd been trained to pay attention by the man who should have been there with them tonight, and as such he gave that small, sharp inhalation his full attention. Lifting the arm dividing their conjoined seats up and out of the way, he reached over and tugged the smaller figure closer without speaking.

_What does he think he's doing?_ the boy snarled in his head as he was pulled in. Irritated and feeling cornered, he was about to lash out angrily when a warm limb was draped over his shoulders and left there. The touch should have been distasteful, and the fact that he was now near enough to absorb the other male's body heat from knee to neck ought to have been completely intolerable, but… _Huh. That batch didn't bother me,_ he realized as a new kaleidoscope widened above. _…Or that one, _another followed._ I mean, it's still too loud, but I'm not so…upset…by it anymore._ "…Grayson?" he asked slowly in a moment of relative peace.

"Hmm?"

"What…?" He hesitated, unsure as to which of his uncertainties he should broach first. _Why is this working? How did you know? Why do I not mind? What the __hell__ is going on that I don't mind?!_

"Just relax, okay, Dami?" _The grand finale should be coming up soon. I don't want you to miss that._

"I-" _…Okay. I suppose I can try that. Relaxing. Maybe then I can figure this out._ Concentrating hard, he took a deep breath and released it slowly. As he reached the end of his calming technique the largest series of lights yet soared towards the smoke-screened stars, their departure from earth raising the ambient decibel level back to the organ-shaking levels of a few minutes before. _Ugh…_ The internal shuddering was as unpleasant as ever, but the primal terror it had invoked previously was absent. _This is strange. Convenient, but…strange. I don't get you, Grayson. I don't understand this power you have over people. They do and say things with you that they wouldn't with any other. You're a very dangerous person in that way. I think that might be why I like you. Well,_ he amended, _why I tolerate you._ A long sequence of artillery-grade _booms_ began to roll over them, and the arm around his shoulders tightened slightly. _…No,_ he relented, his muscles growing looser despite the increased volume. _I __do__ like you. Even if you are too sappy half the time. _

The sky grew nearly daylight-bright as the show's swan song began. "Wow," both sighed at the same time, surprising each other. They exchanged a glance, gave dual snorts of amusement, and fell back to watching. The colors danced in time with the rumble of catalyzed gunpowder, and now that he could appreciate the choreography Damian was no longer disturbed by the music. Even the cheers of the crowd, audible at first only in the quieter moments, seemed less cacophonous when he considered what they signified. _These people don't know each other. Some of them may even be enemies. Some of them may be __our__ enemies,_ he mused. _But right now we're all witnessing something together. We might all leave with different impressions, but the point is that there's shared knowledge, a mutual experience. Common ground. _He tore his gaze from the display in order to look up at his elder brother. _…Is that the root of your power? Being able to find common ground of some sort with everyone you meet, and knowing how to move from there to get to your goal? I think I might be a bit envious of that, Dick. Not because it's a talent I don't have, but because it's one that I'll never have. It's a very useful skill, and I'm not built to imitate it in the least. I know I have plenty of other equally useful skills, so why does my inability to ever learn that one bother me?_

Not caring to explore the thought any further lest it lead him to some absurd conclusion – _it's not like I want to imitate him, or make him proud, or something else equally ridiculous,_ he rolled his eyes – he turned back to take in the final minute of the display. When the last spark flickered out, he stared unmovingly at where it had vanished, his mind filled only with a gentle hum and a growing awareness of the fact that the show's end meant he was now assenting to what most people would term as cuddling. Pulling away slowly, he ran a hand through his hair to rid it of any evidence that might give away how the side of his head had been resting against Dick's shoulder. "How long will it take for the car to arrive?" he asked distantly.

"Eh. Give it a couple minutes. Alfred probably started pulling around as soon as the show started, but it takes forever to go anywhere during events like this." He paused. "…That wasn't _so_ awful, was it?" _Please say no. I thought it got better for you towards the end – you did say 'wow,' or at least I thought we were laughing together about that – but…you're all __you__ again now, so maybe I'm wrong._

"The last part was mildly entertaining," he conceded.

_Well, that's better than 'fuck you for wasting my evening,'_ Dick thought. "…I'm glad you didn't totally hate it."

"Mm. Yeah. I didn't totally hate it." _…I really didn't,_ he realized with a mild shock.

"You liked the food, though, didn't you?" _I know you did, I just…I'd kind of like to hear you __say__ as much._

"The car's here," the boy answered, standing and gesturing to where a familiar vehicle had just pulled up. "We should go before everyone else tries to get out of here."

"…Right," the elder sighed, then followed.

After perfunctory greetings were exchanged with Alfred, they fell silent, each gazing out his own window. _Sorry, Dami,_ Dick pouted at his reflection. _I was really hoping you'd have more fun, even with the loud noises. I know you liked the kebabs, but…I wish you'd liked the rest of it, too._

_I enjoyed that, I think,_ Damian glared at the traffic. _It was loud, bright, and entirely too full of people, but…I think I had fun. _A horn blared beside them suddenly as someone tried to merge where there was no room, but his tension bled away as soon as he saw that there was no imminent danger. _And it seems to have helped __that__ little issue, as well. Hmph. A double benefit… _

At home they passed wordlessly downstairs in order to prepare for their return to the city. It was only as they were heading towards the swiftly re-assembled Batmobile that a non-essential question was asked. "…Batman."

"Yeah, Robin?"

"…It's traditional to have displays of the sort we went to tonight at other times of the year, isn't it?"

"Sure, at New Year's, but that's kind of cold. And then it's always at midnight, so we wouldn't be able to go without skipping patrol."

"…Is there a law preventing us from watching from the show from a rooftop?"

Dick paused and reached up to tilt the cowl back, freeing his face. "…You'd want to? I mean…we couldn't really get food or anything, not in costume. No one needs to envision Batman going to town on a hot dog, you know?"

"Obviously. And…yes. I would."

"You…you actually had fun tonight, didn't you?" he marveled. _Yes! I __knew__ it!_

"I don't regularly volunteer to repeat unpleasant outings," an eyebrow was raised on the other side of the hood.

"You had fun," the black-clad man shook his head happily as his mouth split into a wide smile. "_You_, Damian Wayne, just admitted to having _fun_ at a normal, human-type event."

"…You're going to have to stop grinning like an imbecile before we confront anyone, you know." _I actually made you happy? Weird. _

Dick just laughed and flicked the crowning piece of his costume back into place. "Yeah, I guess a smiling Batman wouldn't really be in character, huh?"

"…I didn't say _I_ minded," he muttered, opening his door. "Just that others might."

"Hey, Robin?"

"What?"

"…Thanks for making tonight not awful." _It could have been,_ he knew. _It really, really could have been. _

"You're welcome." _No,_ he kept to himself as he dropped into his seat. _I…you make lots of things not awful, Grayson. And that's…well. That's nice of you. I suppose returning the favor once in a while won't kill me._ "…Are we going?" he asked, noting that his partner was still standing outside.

"Trying to wipe the imbecilic grin off my face. It's not working."

"…Get in the stupid car, Grayson." _You dork._

Another laugh accompanied his entrance. The door shut harder than usual, but the boy in the passenger seat didn't react to it. "Hey, Robin?"

"_What?!"_

"New Year's is less than six months away."

Damian turned his head away to hide the tiny smile that observation drew out. "Yeah, Batman. I know." _…I think I might be looking forward to it almost as much as you are._

**Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this little piece. For those of you following 'Firework,' chapters will resume tomorrow with Batman's interview of Ralph Zucco. Happy reading!**


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